


Trapped

by captain_sassy_socks



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Humor, Season/Series 08, alien drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24898429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_sassy_socks/pseuds/captain_sassy_socks
Summary: The mission to P2X-902 has unexpected side effects for the members of SG-1.When one of them is trapped in a horrible nightmare, it is up to General O’Neill to save his flagship team.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 30
Kudos: 62





	1. Dusted

The wormhole disengages with an unspectacular swoosh like it always does. However, something is different in the gate room today.

At the end of the ramp, an amused General O’Neill meets his flagship team. “How was the mission?” he gestures to them.

One pair of eyes glowers, one pair stares dead ahead, and one pair blinks several times while the owner cleans the stained glasses.

“Okay.” Jack stuffs his hands in his pant pockets and rocks back and forth on his feet. “Since you’re so chatty, first to the showers, then off to the infirmary,” he chuckles. “Debriefing in one hour.”

“Yes, sir.” Carter’s response sounds grumpy, whereas Teal’c bestows him with a dignified bow of his head. Daniel’s sneeze is telling.

As SG-1 leaves the room, a cloud of sparkling glitter follows them as well as the curious eyes of every person in the vicinity.

“Don’t stain the corridors!” Jack calls after them.

The sudden tension in Carter’s shoulders and the slight falter in her steps as she rounds the corner tell him he treads on thin ice despite being the base commander and her superior officer.

He won’t forget their appearances soon. Specks of vibrant blue and green dusted the Colonel, orange and yellow adorned Teal’c, and Daniel looked like he fell into a bag of rainbow-colored flour. He shakes his head in amusement while he proceeds to the exit.

It’s going to be an entertaining debriefing.

***

One hour and twelve minutes later - one minor incident in the shower accounts for the delay – Carter, Teal’c and Daniel sit at the table in the briefing room.

“So…,” Jack addresses no one in particular as he seats himself at the head.

One pair of eyes avoids his gaze, one stares into space, and one seems fascinated by their glasses, again. Only the whirring noises from the ventilators one deck below disturb the dead silence.

“Anyone gonna tell me what happened,” his eyes dart between all those present, “and why you looked like you attended a kid’s birthday party?”

As if on cue, Daniel sneezes.

“Please go ahead,” Jack encourages the archaeologist.

“Ahem.” Daniel sweeps the sleeve of his combat shirt through his face. “P2X-902 has a glamorous culture.” He halts after this sentence and dissolves into giggles.

Drawing his brows together, Jack waits for Daniel to continue, but nothing happens. “That much I gathered,” he states and directs his inquiring look at Carter, who ducks her head. Unconsciously, she scratches her thumb against the fingernails of her left hand. The repetition of the elegant movement captures his attention. His eyes trace her velvety skin until it disappears under the black fabric of her undershirt. The tendons and muscles in her shoulder testify to an athleticism, he admired from the very beginning. The artery in her throat pulsates in a magnificent shade of purple, whereas a light blue shimmer encompasses her golden hair. She combines sensuality and cuteness like the striking goddess from one of his fantasies he indulges every once in a while when the quiet of his empty home overwhelms him.

Huh, where did that distracting image come from? Before an unwelcome body part stirs with heightened interest, Jack visualizes a Goa’uld snake crawling over the table. A shiver runs down his spine and makes his toes curl up in disgust. All good, situation under control.

“-invited us to their Festival of Colors.” Daniel’s words cut through his reverie.

Jack counts to ten in his head before he chances one last unobtrusive glance toward Carter and tries to follow Daniel’s explanation at the same time. However, her furrowed brow and folded arms inform him he didn’t pull off inconspicuous and composed as intended. Either he loses his touch as he ages, or she reads him a little too well these days. Or maybe he has gone nuts with infatuation.

“-the dust balls exploded all around us.” Daniel illustrates with his energetic hands.

And once again, Jack fails. His attention wanes a lot more than he’s used to.

“Sir,” Carter takes over from her teammate. Her firm voice forces him to redirect his focus back to the present. “After that, the situation got wild and dangerous. It was best to call in and leave the planet immediately.”

“But it all was so beautiful!” Daniel counters and thrusts his index finger at her like a petulant child. “Everyone had fun, except you. Spoilsport!”

“Daniel! The safety of my team is paramount.” She squares her shoulders and leans forward in a gesture of dominance and intimidation. In response, Daniel pokes his tongue out while Teal’c reclines and makes a steeple of his fingers.

Mesmerized by the banter and the way she holds her ground, Jack props his chin on his left hand and sighs. He could listen to her being fierce and commanding all day.

In slow motion, three heads turn toward him. A strange mix of confused head tilts and knowing smirks judges him. Clearing his throat, Jack sits up straight, hands clasping and unclasping. He can’t escape the feeling that he, once more, missed some vital information. To stop the twitching, he intertwines his fingers and phrases his next words with caution, “A cheerful crowd with dust balls, that’s it?” Smooth, Jack, smooth. “Anything else of interest?”

“No, sir.” Carter shakes her head.

“No signs of recent Goa’uld activity,” Teal’c adds with a hint of pride. Unusual smugness tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, I have pictures of the main temple,” Daniel jumps up and bolts out of the room without waiting to be dismissed.

Jack’s gaze follows the lively younger man before he considers the remaining members of SG-1. An overexcited Daniel is nothing new, but a glowing Carter and an almost smiling Teal’c should raise his hackles. Somehow, it doesn’t, and he can’t grasp the fact why. “Well, so much for that.” He taps the fingers of his right hand three times against the wooden surface. “I expect a detailed report, Colonel.” At Carter’s affirmative nod, he waves at them. “Dismissed.”

Jack gets up and strides to his office, where a high stack of budget reviews awaits him. Excitement for ‘administrative work’ isn’t the phrase he would use for his current state.

***

Two hours later, Jack rereads the first paragraph from SG-7’s latest mission report for the third time. His mind strays from the detailed description of a bland planet and wanders toward his Colonel. The twinkle in her eyes, her rosy complexion, and the blond short-cropped mane still captivate him. He yearns to lose himself in the depth of the swirling shades of blue.

The sheet of paper glides from his hands.

A suppressed groan emerges as he shuts his eyes and massages his temples. His unspoken feelings for Carter always boil beneath the surface. He’s lucky enough that no one has noticed, yet, since he locks them away in a separate compartment inside his heart. Despite his best efforts, today, they threaten to erupt.

A knock on the door startles him, his left hand knocks the pen off his desk by accident. “Come in,” he harrumphs.

With hesitation, Dr. Brightman enters the office, a large file tucked underneath her armpit. “General,” she greets him in puzzlement as she observes his clumsy attempt to catch the runaway item on the floor.

Several seconds pass before Jack catches the writing utensil and straightens in triumph. “What can I do for you, Doc?” The prickling sensation on his skin has intensified in the last hour and affects his sensory perception. With sheer will, he shoves his daydream into the furthest corner of his brain and concentrates on the woman standing in front of his desk. Trying to appear nonchalant, he sinks into his leather seat.

“It’s about SG-1,” the doctor announces. A raised eyebrow prompts her to continue. “The preliminary results from the blood work show elevated levels of adrenal and dopamine for all three members.” To corroborate her findings, she hands the medical file over. “Sir, I’m concerned about Colonel Carter. Her blood pressure is higher than normal; her body temperature slightly increased.”

The implication eludes him as the numbers flicker and dance along the lines. Not able to decipher anything, he looks up and asks, “And that’s a problem?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know what’s causing it.” Dr. Brightman smiles apologetically. “I like to keep SG-1 under observation for the night and conduct more tests.”

Nodding in agreement, Jack lifts the receiver, and speed dials the control room. “Walter...”

The safety and wellbeing of his best asset is of paramount importance.


	2. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, the nightmare begins.

The ringing phone shakes Jack out of his sleep. With an enormous effort, he opens one eye and glances toward the bedside table. 0203 mocks in bright red numbers. Turning around with a displeased groan, he fishes for the cursed appliance and only succeeds in knocking it off.

The bothersome noise persists with a muffled quality now.

After several seconds of random searching in the dark, Jack’s fingers detect the item in question on the carpet. He lifts the receiver and mumbles, “O’Neill.”

“General, I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour,” the voice on the other end apologizes, “but we have an emergency here on base.”

Jack waits for more information, but same fails to materialize in the subsequent lull of the one-sided conversation. “Hmm,” he prompts, face still buried into the pillow.

“Colonel Carter has locked herself in her lab.”

His drowsy brain can’t make heads or tails of the statement since it wouldn’t be the first time for her to pull an all-nighter. “And that qualifies as an emergency because…,” Jack trails off.

“Sir, she disconnected all surveillance cameras within the section and cut off the main power supply on level 19. Even the emergency lighting is only partly working.”

That’s odd. “Have you attempted to contact her?” Jack sits up and runs his hand over his face.

“Yes sir, she doesn’t respond, and our key cards aren’t working.”

A sense of foreboding settles in his stomach. “I’m on my way.” Wide awake now, he ends the call and picks up yesterday’s clothes. While he dresses in a hurry on his way to the front door, his mind conjures up several scenarios. None of them has a pleasant ending.

The pins and needles underneath his skin fade into the background.

***

The elevator comes to a stop at level 19. When Jack steps out, the on-duty guard Sergeant Andrews and Dr. Aldridge meet him. As the former hands him a flashlight, the beam sweeps over a tranquilizer gun’s metallic contours.

“Bring me up to speed,” Jack demands as they rush along the dim corridor.

“The situation remains unchanged. We’re not able to make contact with the Colonel. Maintenance tries to get lighting back online.””

Out of nowhere, his guilty conscience strikes Jack. “What about Daniel and Teal’c?” He could slap himself for not sparing a thought about their condition. On his way, he only worried about Carter.

“Dr. Jackson talks to his books and throws paper planes across his office. Teal’c is singing in his quarters,” the junior doctor provides.

“Singing?” Jack’s eyebrows climb up to his hairline as he turns his upper body. “As in carrying a tune?”

“Yes, sir,” Andrews confirms. “Superb, as I may add.”

In all their years together, Teal’c never gave the impression to be gifted in the fine arts. Any other day of the week, Jack would be intrigued to grill his friend about it.

After rounding one more corner, they reach their destination. Jack’s brows furrow as he contemplates their next move. His eyes flit back and forth and, inevitably, land on the unusual choice of weapon. He gestures to it. “Why a tranquilizer gun?”

Andrews gives a sound explanation, “Before the cameras went offline, we saw the Colonel throwing several objects across the lab.”

“In her state of obvious agitation, her behavior might be unpredictable. It’s just a precaution,” Dr. Aldridge points out with worry lines etched into his face.

“Why not a zat?” Jack questions. It would be equally effective and harmless.

“We risk a serious injury if the Colonel drops unconscious to the ground,” the doctor defends his point of view. “A sedative buys us a few seconds before the effect sets in.”

Jack agrees with their prudence since they don’t know what’s going on behind the closed door. Given their experiences with alien invasions, body-swapping, and exotic viruses, everyone stationed here long enough always prepares themselves for the unexpected. The hazy memory of being possessed by Anubis surges through him. He blinks and chases it away. “Before we use that, let’s try a different tactic first.” He moves to the scanner and retrieves his key card from his pocket. “I open the door,” he hopes she didn’t block his overriding authority, “assess the situation inside and, if possible, try to talk her down. You cover me but stay outside of her field of vision.”

“General, it’s too dangerous,” Dr. Aldridge objects.

“Right now, we have no idea what to expect,” Jack remarks. “And I haven’t heard a single noise from the lab since we arrived.” Their chatter is the only sound drifting through the hallway. “Ready?” Jack assures himself.

Andrews lifts his weapon, whereas Dr. Aldridge takes shelter behind him.

Jack swipes his card. To their relief, the door slides open, steady and noiseless. Vigilant, he listens into the silence. Not a single electronic device hums. The ray of his flashlight inches forward over cluttered tools and shards of broken glass. The scale of debris alarms him. Decades of active duty put every nerve-ending on high alert. He tightens his grip around the rubber shaft and takes one cautious step into the wreckage.

From the corner of his eyes, Jack detects the shape of something flying toward him. In a knee-jerk reaction, he recoils. The resounding clatter echoes in the deathlike stillness as the object bounces off the wall and skids across the floor. A screwdriver. With a scrutinizing look, Andrews picks it up and mouths the inevitable conclusion.

Carter sees him, them, as a threat.

Not good. His brain calculates and devices a new strategy; pinpoint her location and subdue her. The grave flaw in his plan reveals itself immediately. Unarmed, he presents an easy target for a skilled and frightened military officer. Jack curses himself for not bringing a zat gun. He signals to the sergeant to take his position at the other side of the door. Time is running out.

“Carter?” he shouts into the black chamber, shoulder pressed against the concrete wall. “This is General O’Neill.” Dead silence. “Let me help you.”

Another weaponized item hurtles through the air and misses him by far. The trajectory has changed.

She doesn’t sit idle.

Crunching footsteps dash from right to left.

He wishes the maintenance crew could fix the lighting.

“Carter, stand down!” In the semi-darkness, Jack gestures to himself, indicating a low position with his flat hand. “I’m not here to harm you.” He points to Andrews and imitates a cocked gun with two fingers and his thumb. “Believe me.”

The other man confirms the order with a sharp nod.

Crouching down, Jack recalls the layout of the astrophysics lab. Workbench, chairs, and switchboards have their designated spots, like figures on a chessboard. Taking her strategic training into account, the most likely place to hide and attack him from would be between the two distribution cabinets in the left corner.

Jack takes a deep breath. The element of surprise should work in his favor.

Energetic, he slings himself around the door frame and glides on his knees into the dark room. Focused on his target, he points the light at the envisaged area to give the sergeant sufficient illumination for his shot.

Nothing. The beam scurries over empty space.

Damn, he underestimated her.

Before Jack has a chance to expand his search, a foot connects with his hands and sends the flashlight scattering across the floor. The unexpected momentum throws him off balance. With difficulty, he braces himself on one forearm. Carter takes advantage of his situation and lunges herself at him with a blood-curdling screech. Her knee rams into his abdomen and knocks him flat on his back. He flinches at the impact. Her fist strikes his face, once, twice. The sound of a cracking bone resonates in his ears as a sharp pain zaps through his face. His vision blurs. Rather feeling than seeing another blow coming down on him, he throws his arms up and blocks her attack despite his impairment. He bends one leg, ready to flip her over when a limp body collapses on top of him. A serrated piece of metal scrap tumbles from her fingers and nicks the skin at his throat.

Blood trickles down and stains his sweater.

His heart pounds like a spurt from a P90.

His lungs burn.

***

Three hours of restless sleep later, Jack is back in his office. On his way, he checked in with the guards in front of Daniel’s office and Teal’c’s quarters. They attested that both occupants dozed off an hour ago. At least, they behave like good children. Carter, on the other hand…

The throbbing pain drills through his skull and blends with the ghost of a dull headache. He takes another painkiller and washes it down with lukewarm coffee.

After they transferred the Colonel to the infirmary last night, Dr. Aldridge examined and cared for her. A feisty nurse administered first aid to Jack, despite his protest. The damage was minimal. A broken nose, a tender spot below his rib cage, and a cut are the trophies from his nightly endeavor. His fingers trace the patch above his pulse point.

It could have been worse.

Jack sighs and replays the events of the last 24 hours in his head. The warning signs had flared up, but he couldn’t identify them at the time and, so he ignored them. Now, he sees everything in a different light. Daniel’s childish enthusiasm, Teal’c buoyant cheerfulness, and Carter’s… well, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary per se. She acted composed and thoughtful, maybe a little bit more protective.

To his embarrassment, her stunning beauty had distracted him more than usual. He had almost drooled. In front of everybody. Jack grimaces at the eventual repercussions – for her, not for him – if anyone had noticed. He regrets his actions, yesterday’s unprofessional conduct and the strain on his facial muscles just moments ago. The fractured bone is unforgiving.

Lost in thought, his thumb circles the rim of the mug.

Four years ago, he swore to himself that his latent infatuation with her would never interfere with his duties and obligations. Not only did he lock the room, but he also boarded up and immured the entire complex.

Something happened on P2X-902 to crumble his walls. He needs answers. Now.

Determined, Jack gets up and heads for the infirmary, where he finds Dr. Brightman next to the Colonel’s bed.

He greets her with a nod. “How is she?” Various cables and an iv line stick from Carter’s body. Beneath them, she looks pale and fragile, with no trace of the soldier visible. Medical restraints are placed around her wrists and ankles for her own safety.

“The sedative should wear off within the next half hour. Then we will see.” The doctor jots down another number on the chart. “Her vital signs worry me. Her blood pressure rises and falls at irregular intervals. The fever has climbed to 103F.”

The lines on Jack’s forehead deepen. “Do you have any idea what causes her condition?” His fingers rumple the corner of the blanket at the lower end of the cot.

“I can exclude viral or bacterial agents,” Dr. Brightman elaborates while she inspects the infusion bag. “My best guess, it’s a chemical in the dust. I haven’t extracted it yet, but the evoked reactions remind me of lysergic acid diethylamide.”

“LSD?” Not even for a moment did Jack consider the possibility of an alien drug. He racks his brain again. One by one, the pieces fall into place. Euphoria, altered sensory perception, his own increased libido; red flags had popped up everywhere. “You mean Carter is stuck on a bad trip?”

“I’m sorry, General, that’s all I can give you at the moment. The rest is speculative.”

Jack rakes his fingers through his hair as they step a few feet away from the bed. “Has any other personnel been compromised?”

“A member of the cleaning crew complained about a splitting headache, and Airman Finley spotted a rash. He used the showers after SG-1.” After a brief pause, she inquires, “What about you, General? Did you experience any unusual symptoms or complaints?”

Jack ponders the question. Given the circumstances, it’s in everyone’s interest to be honest. “My head still hurts a bit.” At her pointed look, he reassures her, “It’s fading, barely there. Yesterday, however, I had this prickling sensation underneath my skin.” Absentmindedly, his fingers scratch a patch on his left elbow. “And SG-1’s behavior in the briefing room didn’t faze me the slightest.” Or as honest as he can be. His inappropriate daydreams aren’t open to debate.

The stifled groan behind them catches their attention. Both scramble back to the bed. The doctor bends over and probes, “Colonel Carter, can you hear me?”

First, one eyelid flutters open, after that the second one. Glassy, unfocused eyes stare back. After a second or two, they go wide, and the muscles in her body tremble. Screaming unintelligible words, Carter trashes against the restraints in agony. The beeping of the monitors above her increases, the numbers blink in a red and orange flutter. From the adjacent room, an alert nurse hurries over to assist them. Dr. Brightman gestures to some equipment and hastens to fill a syringe with a sedative. Jack observes the scene with a feeling of powerlessness.

“Please, Bynarr, I’ll give you anything!” The despair in Carter’s voice unleashes a fragment of a faint memory from a long time. The abomination of the name punches him in the gut, the horror in her eyes bore into his soul. Rage floods his system.

Jack leans down and grips her chin. “Look at me, Carter! He’s dead!” His gaze searches for any sign that his message gets through to her. “He can’t harm you. Do you hear me?!”

Tears collect in her eyes. “Please.” All fight leaves her body as she surrenders to her nightmare.

“Come on, Carter, don’t give up! You’re stronger than them.” His fingers wipe away the wetness. “Fight them, Sam. I ne-,” he bites back his revealing confession at the last moment.

“Please.” The soft, distressed whisper reaches his ears before she loses consciousness. She’s in there, somewhere, helpless and scared, pleading to be rescued.

Jack grinds his teeth and blinks back the single tear that threatens to fall. He straightens and instructs the doctor. “Everyone, who potentially came into contact with the dust, reports to the infirmary for a full medical examination. If anyone displays even the tiniest sign of a symptom,” he emphasizes with the minuscule space between his thumb and index finger, “they’ll be put under observation for at least 24hrs.” With one last glance at Carter, he adds, “Keep me informed.”

“Yes, sir,” Dr. Brightman affirms.

Jack strides to the nearest wall phone and calls the control room. His voice shakes with barely contained anger, “Walter, retrace SG-1’s steps since their arrival from P2X-902 yesterday, lock down all contaminated areas, and have them chemically cleaned. Full hazmat suits are mandatory. All gate travel is suspended. Code yellow is in force for the entire base as of now.”

He always dreaded the day when the horrible past would catch up with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me longer than anticipated to polish this chapter.


End file.
